


I want to stay up all night and do you like a drug

by ymaface



Category: Stoker (2013)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymaface/pseuds/ymaface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because, inexplicably, they were the same. Mirror images. Reflections of the same mad person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want to stay up all night and do you like a drug

**Author's Note:**

> How is there not more Stoker fiction??! Lyrics are Open up the Window by Sean Hayes.

_  
_ _I want to stay up all night_   
_Do you like a drug_

_Fall asleep in the sunrise_

_Exhausted by your buzz_

_Hear the city waking_   
_and the little birds stir_

 

New York was certainly different to what she was used to. The tall gleaming skyscrapers, the crowds of anonymous faces and the whirling bright lights made her feel dizzy. A lot of the time she felt lost. She missed the lavish gardens of her childhood home with the lush fields of high green grass and willowy tall trees. There she could scamper about barefoot finding secret nooks and treasures. She could follow imaginary paths that looped back and forth, accompanying whatever new adventure her mind conjured. She missed the feeling of grass beneath her feet and the way her skirts billowed out in the wind. Here in New York she found it difficult to hide away.

A year had gone since that old life. She worked part time in a bookshop, stacking shelves and assisting customers with mundane tasks. Their imaginations were never as good as hers; they only wanted sleek bestsellers about affairs and gory murders. Predictable. Dull. Her work colleagues – students mostly - were friendly but unnoticeable. She never accompanied them for a drink or to grab a bite to eat at lunchtime. To her they were just faces, faces that mumbled incoherent tumbles of words that meant nothing to her. Every day she would leave exactly four minutes after her shift, jump on the crowded subway train, and walk straight back to the modern apartment she shared with her Uncle Charlie.

Her uncle had found work too but she couldn’t be sure exactly what he did. He was impossibly charismatic, though, so it was no wonder he excelled and received promotions. Every evening he would arrive home at six thirty on the dot and she would put aside whatever she was doing to ask about his day, to which he always replied, “Fine, thank you.” They never spoke about the dull monotonous details. 

Instead he would sit down beside her on the window seat and question her about what she was reading or the new painting she was working on. He usually cooked for the both of them but sometimes he would take her out in the car to some new restaurant. New York was full of new restaurants. He never ordered for her and often followed her lead when selecting, though he did indulge when it came to wine. India was becoming almost an expert on the subject. They would sit together and toast to whatever took their fancy, playing the normal docile couple, but smiling privately at their secret joke. 

They didn’t converse much but still India knew him. She knew his tastes, his routine, and his desires. And he knew everything about her, because, inexplicably, they were the same. Mirror images. Reflections of the same mad person.

They even had the same unsettling blue eyes. Under his gaze she felt completely exposed – stripped to the very core. It was unsettling and embarrassing but she never once asked him to look away. During these exchanges she would always feel something building up inside her, an ache that she could only settle late at night when she was supposed to be asleep in her plain white bedroom. She wanted to crawl up into his brain and witness the proof that he was possessed by the same spark as her. She wanted to see if he managed to control his whims and urges as she did. She imagined his powerful hands holding her body still, his slim torso pressed up against her almost childish flat chest, and, of course, the leather of his belt wrapped around her slim neck. She still couldn’t bear to be touched – but knowing that he felt similarly made it different somehow. 

He knew about that ache, she was almost certain of it, because he always wore a secret smile the following morning as he poured their coffee. It bordered on smug.

_Open up a window_

_Let the night in_   
_There is a warm wind_   
_A warm wind_

_Let the night in_   
_Let me right in_

 

And then one night, the night after she turned nineteen, she decided to do something about it.

She went out to a nightclub for the first time in her life. She piled on a ridiculous amount of makeup before hand, painting her lips into a shiny cupid's bow as her late mother had once done, and dressed in revealing cheap clothes that she had bought especially. She looked like a tramp, like a no good hussy, but she had an explicit purpose. She went to the club alone, feeling reckless and very aware of her stunted and limited sexuality, but it worked. It took only fifteen minutes to find an interested partner and convince him to accompany her home. She unlocked the door with steady hands and ushered him inside with a polite smile. After all, her mother always pressed upon the importance of showing good manners.

“What’s this?”

The lights flickered on. Uncle Charlie stood by the switch, still dressed in his work shirt and tie, and looking pointedly at their befuddled guest. His face remained impassive and smooth and India childishly wiped her face with the back of her hand, smudging the makeup.

“He’s my guest, uncle.”

She left the room and wriggled out of the abhorrent clothing before donning a plain shapeless white dress. It took her a while to scrub her face clean but when she finally emerged she looked like her usual familiar self again. Her uncle was still watching the young man with interest and ignoring his drunken questions. India leant against the door of her bedroom and caught his eye. She smiled sweetly, her eyes fixed on his, and delight flickered across his handsome features. There really was _nothing_ he wouldn’t do for her.

He gently traced the smooth curve of her cheek and her eyelashes fluttered. She breathed out, “I think it’s time you retrieved your belt.”  

 


End file.
